


Vinewood's Dead

by Cloevoyant



Series: Fake AH Crew Headcanons [2]
Category: Achievement Hunter, FAHC - Fandom, Fake AH crew - Fandom, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Headcanon, I added the second one anyway cause I liked it too much to not show it to you, also technical trigger warning; suicide, ryan's slightly insane in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 20:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14880485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloevoyant/pseuds/Cloevoyant
Summary: The Vagabond did some...questionable things, and was reprimanded by Geoff. This causes him to break, and Geoff sends the Lads out to stop him.





	1. Vinewood's Dead

        Dread sat low in Geoff's stomach as he flipped through the news channels and watched the body count climb. He knew he'd pissed him off, but never had he thought he would have to send some of his own crew out to take out one of their own. This wasn't going to end well for his crew, no matter what path those he'd sent out decided to take.  
        Jack put her hand on Geoff's arm when he sat heavily on the couch, still staring at the TV. She was concerned about their crew, too, but she was more concerned about the backlash it would have on Geoff. It was majorly his fault that Ryan had snapped, after all.  
        Neither of them spoke, Geoff instead turning the TV off and leaning forward, his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. They would have to say goodbye to someone within the next 36 hours.  
 

* * *

  
        "Can't this fucking thing go faster?!"  
        Michael had pulled himself back into the now bullet riddled car from shooting at the police both in front of and behind them, dropping the empty magazine on the floor and grabbing a fully loaded one and reloading his gun as he waited for a response to his question.  
        "I have my foot on the floor, Mogar! It's not my fault that Ryan managed to find a fucking Fastback!" Jeremy was sitting low in the drivers seat to avoid stray bullets, keeping his head up enough to see. It helped being the shortest one while driving in situations like this one.   
        "There's an opening, Lil J! Look!" Gavin's arm shot out next to Jeremy's head, pointing out a tipped over dumpster that made a very shitty ramp.  
        "Vav, that's a bit risky."  
        "We don't have time to care about that! It's either that or the police beat us to Vagabond and we can't allow that!"  
        "Vav's right. Take the ramp. Mogar, get your head back in!" Ray kicked the front passenger seat from his spot directly behind him, and Michael immediately ducked back in.   
        "Hold on tight, lads!" Jeremy tried to will the car to move faster as they barreled toward the dumpster, and prayed to whatever deity would still listen to them at this point that the ramp would actually work.  
 

* * *

  
        Carnage. Blood. Violence.  
        Death.  
        Those were the only things Ryan could think of as he dropped grenades out his window while occasionally tossing one just to throw off the direct line. Every once in a while he felt his jaw clench as he thought of what his leader had said to him, and red would haze his vision, even more than before.  
        "No right to say that," he mumbled as he wound his way through Los Santos's streets, not quite knowing where the final destination for all of this was supposed to be.  
        "PULL OVER NOW AND WE WON'T BE FORCED TO SHOOT YOU."  
        Police vehicles had done an impressive job in keeping up with him, but he was growing tired of the chase. He glanced in the rear view mirror to see how many there were, and merely shrugged when he only saw a couple of them. Screeching tires made him look again, and his eyes widened as he saw a vaguely familiar vehicle drop on top of one of the police cars and continue driving, stabilizing itself with its forward momentum. He recognized Michael's brownish-red hair when he popped out of the car to shoot, aiming for one of Ryan's tires. Ryan swerved a little to make sure the bullets hit his bumpers instead, stepping harder on the gas as he went.   
        A split second decision lead him toward the road to the Vinewood sign.  
 

* * *

  
        "You can't fucking do that, Ryan!"  
        Geoff paced in front of the still-painted soldier, not even wanting to look at his face and wonder how much of the red paint had been replaced with blood, and how much of it was who's.   
        "Says who? We're criminals, Geoff! Since when do we care about morals?"  
        "You knew them, Ryan! That was someone who knew your face, painted or not! Not only that, but you did it while they were sleeping so they  _wouldn't_ recognize you! You're drawing too much attention to yourself as a serial killer. FIB agents have field days with guys like you! If you're caught, they will manipulate you to no end! Cool it down!"  
        Geoff looked up at the wrong time to look Ryan in the eye, and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Crazy was in his eyes, and Geoff barely held himself still as Ryan stepped forward into his face.  
        "You have no right to tell me to cool it. You only know half of what I've been through, Geoff."  
        "So show me the other half, and maybe I'll understand." Geoff still swallowed hard, even after he said it, and barely kept from flinching when Ryan's hand went around his neck.  
        "Oh, I will. And you'll regret it."  
 

* * *

  
        Ryan shook his head, trying to clear the memory of what had happened earlier. The only car pursuing him right now was part of the crew, and they were doing a great job keeping the air vehicles at bay while he got out of his car and walked toward the Vinewood sign. He heard the other car skid to a stop as he walked, but only one car door opened and closed. Then he heard a click.  
        "Stop moving, Vagabond."  
        "Brownman, you know why I can't do that." Ryan hadn't moved to look at him yet, but he still held the conversation.   
        "Don't make me do this."  
        Now Ryan turned his head, having barely heard the shaking in Ray's voice. Sure enough, Ryan found himself staring at a sniper rifle barrel pointed at his forehead. Slowly, he raised his left hand, showing that he had a grenade in it. He was still squeezing it, but he showed Ray that the pin had already been pulled.  
        "Idiot!"  
        Gavin finally popped out of the car, coming to Ray's side, his outraged horror plain on his face.  
        "You're really going to make me do this?" Ray was still shaking internally, it seemed, but his aim never wavered. Ryan only smiled at the both of them before shifting his eyes to look at the two remaining in the car.  
        "You two got nothing to say about this?"  
        "Hey, if you want to kill yourself that badly, there's nothing we can do that can stop it. You're still a fucking idiot, though," Michael said through the broken window. Jeremy only nodded his head.  
        Ryan sighed and tilted his head back, his final sight being the sky and the top of the E and W of the Vinewood sign.  
        "Make it fast, Ray."  
        "Damn you, Ryan."

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is technically 1 of 2 drabbles I wrote a long time ago; if you want me to post the second one just so you can see how it ends, I will, but that's all on you guys! I have a lot of love for the Fake AH Crew, and tend to imagine short drabbles like this because of it. Thanks for reading!


	2. Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray's dealing with the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to post this anyway because I felt like it needed to be added. Please, do yourselves a favor and listen to the song Ritual by Adam Jensen while reading this, because it was the inspiration for this drabble.

        Sometimes he swore the gunshot still rang in his ears. He could still see the red spot in the middle of the man's forehead as he collapsed, dead before anyone could react. It was one thing when it was a cop, or even a civilian that got in the way. But Ryan had been part of the crew, and Ray had been the one to cut him down. Or, more precisely, snipe-him-from-point-blank down.   
        "Brownman, what the fuck?!"  
        Ray didn't even turn toward the voice, not caring which one of them had decided to react, even though all three of them knew it had to be done. He just turned and got back in the car, keeping his face and mind blank. He vaguely registered Gavin getting in the vehicle next to him again.  
        "We need to get out of here," Ray said evenly, staring at the headrest of the passenger seat in front of him. Jeremy didn't hesitate and pushed his foot on the gas again, the tires of the vehicle spinning as they struggled to find purchase on the dirt. It shot forward a heartbeat later, and they were off again. He wasn't sure if anyone tried to talk to him the whole ride back to the base or not, but he didn't speak, instead replaying the moment he felt his finger squeeze the trigger in his mind over and over again, watching the bullet hole appear on Ryan's forehead each time he replayed it.   
 

* * *

  
         _"I thought you hated alcohol."_  
        "And I thought you hated killing innocent people. Yet, here we are."  
        Ray shook his head as he looked back down at the table in front of him, a bottle of whiskey on the right and an ash tray with a joint on the left. He hadn't wanted to clean out the bong, so he opted for the paper instead. As he lifted the wrapped weed and his lighter, he looked back across the table to where he was sure Ryan's voice had come from. So sure, in fact, that he'd answered verbally before reminding himself  _again_  that he'd killed him.  
        He couldn't even get a drag from the joint before he grabbed the whiskey and downed three more gulps, ignoring the burn and hoping the alcohol would numb the hallucinations faster. It'd worked for the last 2 months, why would today be any different?   
        Ray was about to finish the bottle, completely abandoning the joint, when his phone rang. The contact name 'King' showed up, so he swiped left on the screen to ignore the call. The caller hadn't even bothered to leave a voicemail before his phone rang again. This time the ID came up 'Queen', so Ray let it ring, letting the phone itself send them to voicemail. This time the little tape icon showed up, signalling that the caller had left a message.  He didn't even bother to listen to it, hitting the trashcan icon before the message played for more than a second. Even in that one second, Ray heard noises of chaos, sirens, and shouting. And he didn't want any part of it.  
        Those noises had been what dragged him into this shit, into this depression. Those noises only meant death and destruction. And Ray was fucking sick of it.  
        He needed a way out. An escape. A new way to deal with killing a friend.   
        A new ritual.


End file.
